Three Weddings and a Murder (8 page)

“One less sister ahead of me, you mean? I’m that much closer to my debut?” Eliza gave her sister’s cheek a fond touch. “That’s kind of you to think of me, but I’m not forming any plans. I’d never rush you, Georgie. After Margaret’s marriage to Sir Snail-Face and Philippa’s scandal with Everhart…” She put her hands on Georgie’s shoulders. “You are my dearest sister, and I daresay the best of our lot. It would break my heart to see you married without the deepest, truest love.”

Georgie smiled beatifically. “But I already have that, you see. The deepest, truest love. I’ve had it for years now.”

Eliza peered at her. “Are you devoting your life to the Church?”

Her sister laughed. “No, no. I’m in love. With a man. With Captain Lessing, to be precise.”

“William?
William
Lessing?”

Eliza was shocked. The Lessings were their nearest neighbors here in the country—and some vague sort of cousins on their mother’s side. The two families’ youngest generations had been close all their lives, and William had always been a particular friend. He wasn’t a flashy, charming young gentleman—but intelligent, patient, and kind. Even after going away with the army, he’d made it a particular habit to visit Cade Manor whenever he returned.

Or perhaps he’d made it a particular habit to visit Georgie.

“We’ve been in love for years,” Georgie confessed, “and secretly engaged since my first season. We knew nothing could come of it just yet. He had his service to fulfill in the war, and I… Well, I hated to leave
you,
Eliza. You’ve had to be so patient these long years. And so have I, in a different way.”

“A much more difficult way. I can’t even imagine.”

Oh, sweet Georgie. She truly was too good for this world. Tirelessly listening to all Eliza’s complaints and moaning about missing out on “life,” and all while knowing her beloved faced death daily.

“Now that Philippa’s wed, I’ll send a letter to William at once. He can write to Papa for permission, and we can be openly betrothed at last. And
you”
—Georgie smiled broadly—“may finally have your debut. It’s too late for this year, sadly. We don’t want to call attention to Philippa’s mistake. But by next spring, Papa cannot refuse. Aren’t you happy?”

“Oh, I am.” Eliza captured her sister in a tight hug. “I am happy for you, most of all.”

Georgie beamed. “Look at us. Margaret is settled, Philippa will have a child. I’ll marry William at the earliest opportunity. We’re all so grown now, aren’t we? I can’t wait to see what life holds in store for you. Something very interesting, I expect.”

Interesting?

Eliza shook her head. She was done with interesting men. “Whatever you wish on me, don’t wish that.”

Please join us for the christening of

Alice Maria Everhart

St. George Hanover Church, March the Twelfth, 1813.

Breakfast will follow at Cade House.

E
LIZA STOOD IN THE
aisle of the church, blinking. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Today was meant to be a joyous family celebration—the first time all four Cade sisters had been in one place since Margaret married Sir Roland.

And now…

Oh, good heavens. The devil himself had appeared for Alice’s christening. Mr. J. Harrison Wright was standing in the vestibule, holding her infant niece.

The
scoundrel
.

This could not be allowed. Eliza crossed to him in hasty strides.

He looked up and saw her. And had the temerity to
smile
. “Why, Miss Eli—”

“Who let you in here?” she demanded in a low voice.

“I was invited. Just as you were.”

“What are you doing to her? Give me that baby this instant.”

“But she likes me. And I like her. See?”

Indeed, little Alice had her fist tightly clenched about the rogue’s index finger. He tugged gently against her grip, and she flexed her chubby arm and tugged right back.

A little smile curved Mr. Wright’s lips, and Eliza fancied there was nothing of irony in it. Merely delight. Perhaps even joy.

“I must say,” he murmured, swaying the white-gowned infant to-and-fro, “I didn’t expect to like you quite so much, little Alice. It’s a happy surprise.”

And it was a very unhappy surprise, how much the man’s nearness still affected Eliza. How soft and buttery she went inside at this particular sight. Devilish men should not be allowed to hold kittens, babies, or bouquets of wildflowers. There ought to be an Act of Parliament.

It had been nearly two years since that night in the Alderfield gardens. Eliza had believed herself to be done with him. She thought she’d banished any yearnings for his handsome face and his leather-bergamot scent.

She’d thought wrong. She could tear her gaze from his face—barely—but that familiar, stirring scent did her in. The smell reminded her of unlatching a well-seasoned traveling case. It brought to mind past adventures. It made her long to leave her home behind and explore new, dangerous locales.

Oh, heavens.
That night in the garden. That magical kiss.

“Little Alice doesn’t
like
you,” she said. “She’s an infant. Impressionable, drooling. Too young to see you for the scoundrel you are.”

“Well. Why don’t we let her grow up a bit, and she can make her own decisions about Uncle Harry?”

Uncle Harry?

He couldn’t be serious. Did he honestly think he could somehow wedge his way into the Cade family and torment her forever? Hadn’t he already done enough?

He pursed his lips and made a cooing face at the babe. “You’ll grow up to be a lovely, clever woman, just like your Auntie Eliza. Won’t you, darling?”

Eliza took the baby from his arms, settling Alice’s sweet, flax-tufted head in the crook of her elbow. “Auntie Eliza will make certain this baby never learns your true nature. After today I’ll ensure she never, ever sees you again.”

He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “That will make things difficult, come Christmases and birthdays. I’d just been telling little Alice here that I’ll be England’s most generous godfather. I might have promised a pony.”

Eliza gasped. “They’ve asked you to be godfather? That’s unconscionable.”

She caught sight of Philippa in the corner and crossed to her at once, not even bothering to curtsey or otherwise take her leave of Mr. Wright. This was an urgent matter, and it concerned a baby’s innocent soul.

“Philippa, what can you be thinking? Mr. Wright is to be Alice’s godfather? What nearsighted, fever-induced delusion would cause you to make such a choice?”

“It’s not a delusion. It’s a friendship. After all, he’s the one who reacquainted me with Peter in Brighton.” Philippa took the babe from Eliza’s arms. “We wouldn’t be happily married today were it not for Mr. Wright.”

Eliza shook her head, trying to clear it. Was her sister truly meaning to say that Harry Wright had not only separated her from Brentley, but introduced her to a man who played fast and loose with her virtue, necessitating a rushed marriage—and for all this, she considered him a
friend?

“But it wasn’t only Brighton,” Philippa went on. “You’ll remember how we were all very close in Norfolk.”

“Oh, yes. The time in Norfolk. Where he cruelly parted you from Brentley before driving the poor man’s financial situation off a cliff.”

Her sister shook her head. “Eliza, don’t say such things. Not where he can overhear. You’re so mistaken, and I won’t have a good man impugned. Not here, not today.”

Eliza’s brain was whirling. Harry Wright, a good man? A man worth Philippa’s defenses and little Alice’s devotion?

“I’ll tell you everything.” Philippa handed the baby to Georgie and drew Eliza to a hushed side chapel.

There were no seats, so they knelt side by side and folded their hands in an attitude of prayer.

“You’re all wrong about Mr. Wright and Brentley. Harry wasn’t a bad influence, he was trying to save his friend. Brentley told me everything in Norfolk. He and I were friends, Eliza—nothing more.”

Eliza pressed her lips together, skeptical.

“Anyhow, Brentley’s finances have been a shambles ever since he inherited. That wasn’t his fault. He assumed the title at such a young age, he never knew how to improve the situation. He spent a great deal of time in gambling hells and at card tables, hoping for luck.”

“I don’t suppose he found it.”

Philippa shook her head. “Of course not. He only fell deeper into debt. Harry was watching it all, unable to stop him—but he did his best to stay close and keep him out of worse mischief. That’s why they came to Norfolk for the summer. But it all started long before.

“Several years ago, Brentley placed a frightfully large wager at White’s, inscribed in their famous betting book. He lost, and he had no money to pay. Mr. Wright claimed the debt instead. He said there was some mistake in recording the wager, and his was supposed to be the name.”

“But…but how would he pay? Mr. Wright has no money.”

“Not anymore,” Philippa said. “Don’t you see? That’s where all his allowance and funds went, for years. He wasn’t living high—he was paying the debt in increments. But his creditor grew impatient, went to the Duke of Shiffield, and demanded the entire sum.”

Eliza reeled on the kneeling bench. “So that’s why the duke cut him off.”

Philippa nodded.

“But why would Mr. Wright do that? He ruined his finances and reputation just for Brentley’s sake? Brentley’s insolvent now anyway.”

“I don’t know all his reasons. You’d have to ask Mr. Wright. All I can say is that Brentley thinks the world of him. And after he brought me and Peter together, I rather adore him too.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza stole a glimpse of the man. He’d found his way full circle to Alice again, who now slept cradled in her father’s arms. While the two men talked and admired the sleeping babe, Eliza admired the men. Well, one of the men. She wasn’t sure what she’d once seen in Peter Everhart, but her appreciation for Mr. Wright was ballooning by the second.

His physical traits—handsome profile, dark hair, and untidy cravat—were so familiar. But she felt as though she were truly
seeing
him for the very first time. It all made sense now. Naturally he was perpetually disheveled compared to other gentlemen, because he couldn’t engage the services of a valet. Always coasting by on a wicked joke and a smile, because until he inherited—decades from now, most likely—those charms would be his only currency.

What a price he’d paid, and all on the basis of a mere friendship. The woman who captured Harry Wright’s heart would be lucky indeed. Especially if she were a sweet, cooing, golden-haired infant who already had him wrapped around her tiny finger.

Alice couldn’t know her good fortune.

“I can’t think of any man I’d rather have as her godfather,” Philippa said.

Eliza sighed. “Then neither can I.”

A
FTER THE CHRISTENING
, they all returned to the house for breakfast. Mr. Wright sought her out in the crowded room.

As he moved toward her, Eliza bid herself to stay calm and collected. She hoped she managed a cooler outward appearance, because her insides were in turmoil.

He was growing handsomer by the second. Not only handsome, but respectable in polite company and admirable in the eyes of her family and friends. How was
she
supposed to pretend indifference?

“Miss Eliza.” He inclined his head in greeting and offered her a glass of lemonade. “I hear you are at long last going to have your grand come-out ball.”

“In just a few months.” She accepted the cool, perspiring glass. “I’ll be the oldest debutante London has seen in a score of seasons.”

“I doubt that. But you’ll be the most successful, I’m sure. Dare I hope for an invitation? After today, I’m practically family.” When she choked on her sip of lemonade, he gave her an amused look. “I notice that you failed to interrupt the christening and expose my villainy before God and Peter Everhart.”

She cringed. “I had a talk with Philippa. My sister told me everything about Brentley. Or at least, more than I ever could have guessed.”